Note: Bala Tik is the man we meet in TFA on the Milennium Falcon. By then he is the head of the Guavian Death Gang, and he is the one who alerts the First Order that Han Solo is carrying the droid they're looking for. In this fic, they're the ones who tried to shoot down Mara's ship.
Later, Bala Tik would look back on the day his father took him out for thirteenth birthday as the single most defining moment of his life. He would divide his life between the time before he turned thirteen and the years after it. Each decision he made afterwards linked back to that day in the restaurant on the upper levels of Coruscant, surrounded by oblivious New Republic officials, the low jazz of the band, and the singular shot of the blaster.
Today was Bala Tik's thirteenth birthday, and though he did not yet know it, in a few minutes, he would be an orphan. Unfortunately for Bala, his father was the head of the Guavian Death Gang. He had not finished a job correctly, and he was pretending not to know.
The restaurant was called the Imperial Remnant. Garren Tik had chosen the restaurant on the basis of its scintillating reviews, and they were ordering. They were both wearing suits and cufflinks. Business had been slow, so Garren was tapping public funds. If she hadn't died seven years previously, his mother would have died of shame. Rumors swirled that he was the one who poisoned her. But then, there were a lot of rumors about the Tiks.
Garren made a joke that was not especially funny, but Bala laughed hard in his seat, doubling over. They had the same dark hair and serious set of the mouth. Aside from that, father and son did not look alike. Thirteen years ago, a woman Garren could not recall meeting before arrived at his office holding a small bundle. She deposited the infant in his arms, she offered them parting smiles, and she left.
Garren did not have time for a woman, but perhaps he had time for a son. Bala grew up insulated from and largely oblivious to Garren's lifestyle. When asked what his father did for a living, Bala confidently replied that he worked in business. Or maybe it was consulting.
The food arrived. Bala dug into his nerf burger, a plume of grease dripping down his chin. Garren picked up his fork and knife. The menu billed his dish as a tower of steamed vegetables, toasted nuts, and tomo spices, and at the center of it was a stack of grilled veg-meat. Garren was a vegetarian.
They were hungrier than they realized, and they ate in almost silence. Bala was thinking about the last time he had eaten a burger. It had been four months ago. His father had been away for a week on business, but when he returned, he sat Bala down in the kitchen and asked him what he wanted to eat. Garren had fried up a nerf steak burger for his son that was better than the one he ate now, and one for himself out of kibi strips.
The waiter came back. "How are we doing?"
Bala spoke through his mouth full of nerf burger. "If weally goof."
Garren set down his own fork and knife. He was going to explain to the waiter that what his son meant to say was that the food was delicious, thank you, when another three men in uniform walked up to the waiter and whispered something in his ear. The waiter nodded, and walked away. The flute in the band chirped prettily, like a songbird.
The men turned to Garren. The one standing closest reached into his suit. He grasped something and pulled it out with a well-practiced flourish. It was an ID. "Garren Tik, my name is Alsom Renchu," he said, no-nonsense. "I'm a security official for the New Republic. We got a tip-off on Tatooine about kidnapped kids, and another one on Endor about the death of Mara Jade Skywalker. We know about the Guavian Death Gang, Tik. Sir, you are under arrest."
"Dad?" said Bala.
Garren knew that if he was incarcerated, the New Republic would have ways of making him talk. Someone on the inside had talked. But Garren wasn't going to die a snitch.
So Garren made a calculated decision. Stay alive for his son, or die with his organization's secrets. "Let's talk somewhere else," he said, rising out of his seat. "Away from my son." But he made a mistake. Money can buy you dinner, but it can't buy you time.
Roee Akkar, the rookie on the mission, misunderstood Garren's intentions. When he saw him stand up, his training abandoned him and fear took over. He shot Garren square in the chest.
The first thing Garren was aware of was the ringing. Then his eyes grew wide and his knees buckled.
Renchu was yelling. "Akkar, you-"
I'm dying, thought Garren. I'm dying I'm dying my son -
"Bala!" he snarled.
Bala had been sitting perfectly still on the other side of the table. His father's words knocked sense into him and he pushed the arguing officials out of the way with more strength than he knew he had. He rounded in front of his father.
"Step away from him!" Renchu shouted. His voice was so loud that everyone in the restaurant turned to watch, even the musicians. Outside, a passing couple stilled and tried to peer into the window. Bala didn't hear it. The only thing he knew was that his dad was on his knees next to the table and he was calling for him.
"Dad?" There was a red stain that was growing larger on his father's chest. His hands shook. Bala was repulsed but he crouched in front of him, supporting his shoulders.
"Take over the business. The First Order is rising, Bala," Garren growled. Saliva dripped from his mouth. "Remember that."
"Dad-"
Then Bala was supporting his father's entire frame. Garren's hot neck pressed up against Bala's, but he could not hear any breathing.
"Son, step away-"
"Don't call me son!"
His father's huge body lay on top of him. If he didn't resist, it would crush him down to the floor. It would cover him and suffocate him. All he had to do was let go.
Garren's funeral took place on the upper levels of Coruscant, a week after Bala's thirteenth birthday party, and not far from the restaurant where it had taken place. Security, perhaps some of the same security officials who shot him, surrounded the funeral home. The entire home was tapped. The only people in attendance were the social worker overtaking Bala's case, the funeral director, the man shoveling the dirt, and Bala himself. None of Garren's coworkers came. None of the people who used to come to Bala's home for dinner or holidays even contacted him, like they didn't exist.
The investigation had moved on to the rest of the Guavian Death Gang, but they had no more leads. It was total radio silence - and the man's son certainly wasn't talking. They had killed its leader, but its base of support remained. If the New Republic didn't act soon, vengeance could make the gang morph into something more powerful and more ruthless than it had been before. They knew this. Everyone was working on the case.
Bala watched the man shovel dirt onto the place his father's casket lay.
"Can I try?" he asked.
The man stopped shovelling dirt. "That's against procedure," he said brusquely.
"You're talking about procedure? My dad's dead."
The social worker rubbed Bala's back. It was an unwelcome gesture. "It would give him closure," he said.
The funeral director hesitated. "Can you carry the shovel with the dirt? It's heavy."
"Yes."
The funeral director nodded. "It's okay, Lin," he said to man with the shovel.
Lin handed Bala the shovel, but instead of letting go, he held onto it, as though he expected the two of them to shovel together.
"Let go," Bala snarled. He ripped the shovel from the man's grasp. He swayed. It was heavy. He walked resolutely to the pile of dirt, so out of place among the tall metal buildings of Coruscant. Bala thrust the shovel into the dirt and carried it back out, determined not to show his audience how he struggled with the load. He walked the distance to the hole in the ground where the casket lay, and turned the shovel so all the dirt came tumbling out. He didn't watch it cover the casket. He turned back again to the pile of dirt, shovel ready.
Shoveling dirt had rhythm. There was a tune he hadn't been able to get out of his head, and he realized that it was the same music the band played when his father got shot. He didn't laugh at the absurdity. He didn't feel sad to be at his father's funeral. Numb, blind rage consumed him.
The level of dirt on his father's grave slowly rose. When his arms grew numb, he didn't object when Lin joined him in the task, but he seethed when he saw how much faster the professional was at filling his father's gravesite.
The dirt he shoveled conveyed a message: Dad, I'll always follow in your footsteps.
Other notes: On a somewhat unrelated note, the last Aftermath book came out a few weeks ago. I haven't read it, but I have read the Wookieepedia article! The book has a really interesting character called Rae Sloane, who becomes one of the founders of the First Order, and she also spends a significant amount of time on Jakku. I think Rae Sloane could be Phasma, and I would love if she was Rey's mom...OR, she could be Finn's mom...! Anyway, this movie needs to come now!